


Tethered

by nanonihilist



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Implied Sexual Content, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, M/M, One-Sided Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25035793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanonihilist/pseuds/nanonihilist
Summary: 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘒𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘺’𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘒. 𝘒𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘺. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘴.
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Prokopenko
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Tethered

_ You've got my heart bursting at the seams _

_ Maybe you're the boy from my dreams _

_ One _

The first time Alexei Prokopenko woke up with a tether wrapped around his heart, he was overwhelmed by the stench of blood. His head was resting on a chest that rose and fell in the steady rhythm of slumber, gentle but blood streaked hands cradled his torso. He felt fresh, like one does after a fulfilling nap and a hot shower but the feeling was quick to subside. When his eyes opened to take in the sight in front of him, he couldn’t stop the terrorized scream tearing past his lips. He saw himself, no, a horrifying version of himself, no, horrifying  _ versions _ of himself, strewn across the bed, dowsing the white of the duvet in crimson. A body bent in awkward angles, one with transparent skin, a charred one, one with its viscera flowing out of its mouth  — and several more corpses embellished with the elements of a particularly blood-curdling nightmare lay right by his now trembling legs, all bearing  _ his  _ face. Prokopenko’s face. 

The chest beneath him moved, now shuddering with anxious breaths, as a trembling hand came up to turn his face away from the nauseating view. “Shh, shh. It’s alright, It’s alright” a hoarse voice soothed. Kavinsky was looking down at him, no sunglasses to mask his bloodshot eyes and wide pupils, admiring the way even the constellation of freckles over the uneven ridge of Proko’s nose was so perfectly aligned in his  _ dream boy’s  _ face _. I did it,  _ the look in his eyes said. What exactly he had accomplished, Proko couldn’t tell. But the dry trail of tears over Kavinsky’s hollow cheeks and the way the moonlight slipping in through the window bounced off his bony shoulders invoked something so raw and profuse in him, like  _ relief,  _ like  _ strain _ . He felt reborn. 

His eyes trailed down to Kavinsky’s neck, an ugly purple bruise circling it, the print of two thumbs right on his windpipe. Two and two were put together as soon as Proko caught sight of a rather whole looking corpse with a clean bullet wound between its eyes, this one bearing his face too, and the Beretta resting on Kavinsky’s left. Tears pricked his eyes as the leash around his heart gave a sharp tug, his lips crashed against Kavinsky’s own, the latter grinned into the kiss. 

“ _ Proko _ ” Kavinsky breathed, and the tether tugged harder. 

*

The first time Alexei Prokopenko felt the tether around his tongue was when he dropped to his knees in a dusty bathroom stall that stank of piss and beer all the same. Blood roared in his ears to the beat of the dubstep that had a jumble of stoned kids dancing maniacally on the dance floor. The pack had come down to the local night club to celebrate _ Proko’s badass comeback _ , as Jiang put it. Prokopenko didn’t know what exactly he had come back from, his memories before the night of his  _ comeback  _ remained a monochrome blur. What he knew was that Kavinsky had been the one to bring him back, so the tether joining him to the dreamer tugged at him to please him in all the ways possible.

Kavinsky looked down at him through his white rimmed shades, a knowing grin perpetually sitting on his lips. When Proko’s mouth parted wantonly, Kavinsky only smiled wider and let his dream boy swallow him whole. 

Later when Kavinsky tasted himself on Proko’s tongue, he was proud and glad to have brought him back and told Proko so. “I’m glad to be back, K” Proko said and bared his neck in gratitude. 

*

The first time Alexei Prokopenko felt the tether all around his body like a highly tensile coil was when Kavinsky’s Evo gapped a Hellcat and breezed past into Henrietta’s lonesome roads, breaking up the quiet of the night with the growl of the exhaust. The boy was practically vibrating in the driver’s seat with the illicit thrill of the win. He pulled over at a distance, hauled Proko out to the front of the car. Pushing himself up to sit on the warm hood, Kavinsky wrapped an arm around Prokopenko’s neck. The streetlights cast an ominous glow over his face, making him look haunting, predatory and greedy.  _ Glorious _ . They shared a quick rough kiss, because when it was Kavinsky, everything was quick and rough. Proko wanted more, because when it was Kavinsky, Proko always wanted more. Kavinsky’s hands slipped under his shirt and found the button to his jeans. “Dream boy, I always win” he said, hand slipping into places where Proko needed the most, and the latter held on to  _ Dream boy, Dream boy, Dream boy  _ with his life. The life Kavinsky had dreamt into him. The life that was the tether winding around where he was the most sensitive as he moaned Kavinsky’s name so many times he feared he would forget his own, until the dreamer breathed “ _ Prokopenko _ ” into his skin over and over again.

Proko would always be Kavinsky’s  _ dream boy  _ and the latter would always be his K. Kavinsky. His  _ king _ . The one who always wins. 

♛

  
  


_ I don't need the world to see _

_ That I've been the best I can be, but _

_ I don't think I could stand to be _

_ Where you don't see me. _

_ Two  _

The first time Alexei Prokopenko felt the tether sizzle was when he saw the way Kavinsky looked at Lynch. The pack was hanging out at Proko’s, the T.V. blaring a cliche sci-fi movie that Skov and Swan watched more than happily while Jiang casually jerked the latter off. Kavinsky sat at the window sill, wrapping mephedrone in tiny pieces of paper as his eyes scanned over a familiar E46 parked at a distance. In the driver’s seat sat Ronan Lynch, who was known for delivering right hooks and flooring the accelerator at stoplights. For a few minutes, Ronan napped, probably sleeping off a hangover or conserving energy for a fight he wished to look for later that evening. As Kavinsky’s attention began to drift from the sleeping boy back to the powder, Ronan’s eyes snapped open and all of a sudden, crimson oozed from his wounded arms, arms that had been as smooth as alabaster a moment ago. K’s eyes widened as he cocked his head to the side, studying the deep vertical gashes that now ran along Ronan’s wrists. His lips stretched into a crazed grin and Prokopenko felt the words bounce around in his mouth before he said it. “A _ dreamer.  _ LIke you, K.” Kavinsky turned to him and motioned him to open his mouth before putting a rolled paper in his mouth. “Yeah. Just like me” he replied. 

Proko swallowed and the tether sizzled harder.

*

The first time Alexei Prokopenko felt the tether cut into his skin was when Ronan Lynch landed a hard punch on Kavinsky’s face, making the latter stagger back and fall. “Which part of ‘I want to have nothing to do with you’ do you not understand, you fucking cunthead?” Ronan spat and Kavinsky howled a laugh so ugly, Proko cringed and Ronan curled his fist for another punch. “You want to have everything to do with me, duchess. You just don’t like admitting it when daddy’s around.” Kavinsky spoke, blood flowing freely from his nose as he motioned his chin towards Gansey, who was now trying to haul Ronan away from the scene. Ronan kicked Kavinsky in the shin one last time (and Kavinsky let him) before Gansey pulled him away, yelling “Ronan, just come on.” Something hideous simmered inside Prokopenko, forcing him to spit back. “Yeah, Lynch go on. Go do gentleman things with your Republican boyfriend. Maybe you can come back when your libido is high enough to override your moral high horse.” ”His Republican boyfriend can help with that too.” Kavinsky cackled as Ronan drove away with Gansey, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a bruised and beat up K. Proko kneeled down to kiss his bloodied mouth and combed his hair away from his forehead with his fingers. “Lynch is going to be the death of me” said Kavinsky absently and the tether bit down harder on Proko’s flesh so he knew it to be true.

*

The first time Alexei Prokopenko felt the tether thinning was when Kavinsky came home broken again, obviously from a fight with Lynch, for Proko to patch up. And he kept coming. Again, again, again, again, again and  _ again _ . New wounds to fill everyday. New medicine for different scars every other day. Band-aids, bandages, kisses, blow jobs and quick fucks in which only Kavinsky got to finish. But it was never enough. Not for K. Not for his dream boy. Every morning Kavinsky set out to hunt his _ Golden boy  _ again. When Kavinsky stayed for dinner, the only thing he grabbed from the fridge were the beer cans or a couple of Stolis. “You cannot get all your nutrition from vodka, you know.” Proko once said, urging him to eat something substantial instead of his usual ‘meal’. Kavinsky sneered, “No, not with that attitude.” He winked and ran upstairs.

When Proko lay down in bed willing himself to fall asleep, he heard Kavinsky calling him  _ Dream boy,  _ but only ever in his dreams. 

*

The first time Alexei Prokopenko heard the tether scream for help was when alongside the fireworks in the Fourth of July, there appeared a dragon woven with fire. A dragon woven with fire that K dreamt. A creature so magnificent yet meant for destruction. It was much more believable to him than it should have been. Lynch dreamt his own monster to counter the dragon. But Proko believed K would win. He was his king. He would always win. 

He would, if he hadn’t given up on himself. On his dream boy. On everything. 

When Kavinsky climbed the roof of his Evo and stood there, glowing in the firelight with his tacky sunglasses hiding the emptiness in his eyes, he looked brilliant. But only Proko knew how truly devoid of light he was. Sitting in his Golf, Proko tightened his fingers around the steering wheel, watching the reflection of the dragon get bigger and bigger in K’s shades, his foot pressed down on the gas pedal. 

“The world’s a nightmare.” Kavinsky said and Proko knew it to be true. Because whatever Kavinsky said, Proko believed it to be true. Because without Kavinsky, everything would be a nightmare.

Proko was no longer Kavinsky’s  _ dream boy  _ and the latter was no longer _ his _ K. In the end he lost to the world. But he was still his king. 

The dragon engulfed Kavinsky. Alexei Prokopenko’s world went dark before K’s charred corpse hit the ground. 

The tether snapped before the car hit the wall. 

**Author's Note:**

> writing for dead fandoms is nice :)  
> kudos and comments are appreciated <3


End file.
